


IOU My Heart

by thegirlgrey



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender Jasper, Doctor Clarke, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grey's Anatomy Crossover, Paramedic Octavia, Police Officer Bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlgrey/pseuds/thegirlgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 5 times Clarke and Bellamy trade IOU’s and the one time they trade their hearts. </p><p>or</p><p>The Grey’s Anatomy-ish AU that nobody asked for (but secretly wants).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clarke

**Author's Note:**

> Here, I did a thing.
> 
> (Also, chapter titles relate to the person who is cashing in a favor!)

The last thing he expects to happen tonight is a body sliding flush against his back, lips ghosting across his cheek, and a familiar voice in his ear.

“I will buy you a brand new leather jacket to replace the one I ruined when I was 18 if you just play along.”

Bellamy hasn’t seen Clarke in almost a year. It was at Atom’s funeral. She had held Octavia's hand while she cried on her big brother's shoulder. Bellamy opted out of undercover work after he lost his partner to it and moved into an apartment across town for a fresh start. Clarke had been wearing black then too, just a little bit more of it than right now. Octavia had a dress pretty similar to what Clarke is wearing. His little sister’s was two inches shorter and had a lot more lace cuts out in very noticeable places (much to his dismay). This was a going out dress, but the look on Clarke's face was less looking-for-a-good-time and more looking-to-deck-somebody-in-the-face.

Bellamy takes his drink from the bartender with a nod. Jasper just shrugs and moves over to another customer. It was pretty busy in _The Dropship_ tonight, and he knows them well enough to not even bother. Bellamy turns in her arms to lean against the bar. Clarke doesn’t step back even though it brings her nearly flush up against him. So she was serious about her proposition. He lifts an eyebrow.

“I like the jacket I’m wearing now just fine, Princess. You’ll have to do better than that.”

She glares at him, which is fine, if she wasn’t running her hands up his chest to grip her fingers into the soft leather collar to pull him down to talk to him quietly.

“I’ll owe you. Just help me out. There’s this guy and he-”

That’s all Bellamy needs to hear. Clarke was always headstrong and stubborn and so freaking _brave_. She had to be after her mom got her dad killed, her own daughter almost killed, by driving drunk. She cut the woman out of her life completely. She got emancipated at 17, met Octavia soon after in her lawyer’s office, and became best friends with his little sister. Clarke running scared because of a guy? It makes his hackles rise because Clarke is probably the toughest person he knows besides Octavia. Clarke isn't afraid of anything.

She hasn’t even finished explaining why he should help her when he curls an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him with a wicked grin. It doesn’t take more than a second to find the guy she’s trying to shake. He looks like he’d be younger than she is. He’s short, baby faced, and looks completely confused. It’s not the threat Bellamy was expecting. He doesn’t even look like a threat at all. (He’s seen Clarke chew out a wannabe thug for trying to mug her. That’s after she broke his nose because he tried to grab her bag. He even apologized to her for making her punch him. Like he said, Clarke’s tough.)

“Clarke?”

She only turns enough to press the side of her body into Bellamy. Her fingers toy at the zipper of his jacket. She is unsurprisingly good at this. He lets his hand slide against the small of her back to rest on her hip. He doesn’t want to be showed up is all. It has nothing to do with feeling her tense under his hand.

“Miles! It’s such a surprise to see you here.” 

Clarke offers him as warm smile, but she hasn’t made a move to greet him or move away from Bellamy. He drops his drink on the bar next to him and offers a smirk.

“I swear, my girl loses all of that famous bedside manner the second the scrubs come off.”

He winks at Clarke. The man-child (because he seriously looks all of 15) frowns. Bellamy has to fight back to urge to either fix his crooked tie or grab him by it and strangle him with it for freaking Clarke out.

“I’ve never seen you around the hospital or down here before.”

Bellamy feels himself stiffen. He knows her schedule and where she hangs out. That’s an indicator of stalking. Clarke’s fingers tighten in his shirt as if to keep him still. She knows how strong his protective instincts are. He doesn’t pull himself from his lean against the bar, only because Clarke is digging a very pointed heel into his foot. He catches her eye and raises an eyebrow at her. He’s trying to communicate that he’s not going to deck the guy in the face… yet. She only digs her foot in.

“Clarke doesn’t really like me visiting the hospital because it usually means I’m bleeding, and our schedules don’t match up often. One of the issues with working on the force.”

“Are you a Jedi?”

Bellamy blinks. It honestly looks like the kid, like he actually believes what he just said. He looks down at Clarke who looks equally parts embarrassed, pained, and... guilty? The little shit. She wasn’t in any danger. She just didn’t want to hurt the kid by turning him down. He grins at her. She narrows her eyes at him, wary at his rapid change in demeanor. While she’s distracted he pulls her closer, easily removing his foot from her under her mercy. He thumbs across her cheek and just under her bottom lip. She’s contemplating biting his finger. He can tell. 

“Just a cop that happened to meet the love of his life after he got shot on the job.”

Clarke smacks at his chest, an honest to god blush on her face. If he didn’t know her, he’d think it was because she was flattered and not pissed off. He just grins even wider as she shifts in his hold just enough to wave a hand toward Miles.

“Miles, this is Bellamy Blake. Bellamy, this is Miles. He just finished his residency at The Ark.” 

He plays with a strand of her hair while she glares at him. Bellamy is happy to ignore the baby doctor until he leaves. She glares harder and shoves him in the hip with her hand. He glares right back at her. He’s forgotten how fun it was to rile up the Princess. And now she doesn’t have a key to his new permanent so she can’t retaliate with childish pranks. The glare she’s giving him right now though, is promising pain. It only makes him grin wider. A throat clearing startles them out of their glaring match. Aw, baby doctor looks flustered. Clarke steps on his Bellamy's roughly before he can make a comment about it.

“Uh, see you at work tomorrow, Clar-Doctor Griffin. Nice to meet you, Bellamy.”

Bellamy nods his head as the baby doctor makes his way out of the bar, cutting across the dance floor, and bumping into people along the way. Bellamy tries to hold in his laughter. He does. He just can’t help it. 

“The kid still has spots, Clarke. Should I be worried about you cradle robbing?”

He’s forgotten that she’s pretty fast for someone so small, and that she’s got some _sharp_ elbows. He rubs at his ribs, but even the sting can’t wipe the smile from his face completely.

“Screw you, Bellamy. He was just an intern at the hospital. I helped him out once or twice because his resident is a dick. He took it the wrong way!”

Bellamy holds up his hands. He knows enough about The Ark from Octavia. Even as a paramedic, she’s there almost as much as Clark is. If she’s helping out interns that means she’s doing less work as an emergency room doctor and more as a surgeon. That also means the poor kid’s resident was Jaha. Clarke’s pretty much Mother Teresa in comparison.

“It was a joke, Princess. Geeze.”

She grabs the drink from his hand and downs it as she rolls her eyes at him. She doesn’t even flinch at the burn from the whiskey. He might have had something to do with her tolerance for hard liquor. She lets the glass drop to the counter behind him.

“God, how did I forget that you were a gigantic asshole?”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

“How did I forget that you were a major kill joy?”

She grins at him. It brings him back to when we was 22 and met her for the first time. There was this little blonde thing soaked to the bone and locked out of their building during a rainstorm, but she was smiling because it was the first mistake she made on her own that she could fix on her own. It was something to see then. It’s still something to see now.

“It was good to see you, Bell.”

He watches as she takes a step away and turns with a jaunty salute. He raises his voice so she can hear him over the noise of the bar.

“You owe me one, Princess!”

She just throws a smile over her shoulder and is sucked into the crowd. He turns back to the bar to order another drink from Jasper. He catches sight of himself in the mirrored backsplash. There’s a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, it was good to see you too.”


	2. Bellamy

Waking up to her phone ringing next to her ear isn’t strange. It is strange that it is ringing on the first day of her two day vacation. The same one that she threated people with bodily harm for interrupting. She had been on two 24-hour shifts back to back! Clarke sticks her head under the covers but pulls the phone with her anyway. Why did she ever take that stupid oath?

“Somebody better be dying.”

A warm chuckle greets her. She opens her eyes just enough to pull the phone away to see the caller ID.

“Bellamy?”

“Still not much of a morning person huh, Princess?”

She grumbles something that is incoherent even to her into the line. She really doesn’t give a damn if he understands or not.

“I’m calling in that favor.”

She groans and manages to smack herself in the face with her phone.

“Right now?”

He sighs. It sounds tired and a little nervous. Huh.

“It’s four in the afternoon, Princess.”

Clarke is immediately more awake that she was a second ago.

“What?”

She pokes her head out from under the covers enough to look at her window, and yes, that is late afternoon sunlight filtering in through her black out curtains. She spent 80 bucks on them, and they don’t even work. She glares at them.

“I want my money back.”

“Clarke?”

He sounds concerned. She rubs at her face with her free hand.

“Just, ignore that. What do you need me for?”

The line goes quiet. Clarke grins. If it’s something that makes Bellamy uncomfortable then it’s going to be _fun_ for her. She doesn’t know when she figured out how much she enjoyed pushing his buttons, but it is nice to know that even after a year nothing has really changed between them.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He grumbles something that she doesn’t quite catch. It’s rushed and sounds an awful like the words _need a date._

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

He lets out a frustrated noise that is just shy of a growl.

“I need you to be my date to the Policeman's Ball tonight.”

Clarke bites her lip. She bites it hard. There are just so many things she wants to say to him right now. There's a looking who's the Princess needing a knight in shining armor now joke on the tip of her tongue. But he's asking for help, so she decides to tone it down. 

“What’s this? Self proclaimed ladies’ man Bellamy Blake can’t get a date to the ball?”

“Oh, hahahaha. You’re so funny Clarke.”

Oh, she can be funnier.

“Oh, come on, Bell. You can go and let Anya take another _stab_ at you.”

The Mayor’s daughter was kind of a strange one. She was a literal wild child and had an obsession with bad boys and throwing knives. She was even rumored to be the leader of one of the East Side gangs. She had literally stabbed Bellamy while they were hooking up, 3 years ago at the same Policeman's Ball. Clarke’s the one that had to stitch him up.

“Not funny, Clarke. Look, you owe me. Octavia bailed on me. Besides her, you’re the only one that Anya respects. She’ll back off if you’re there.”

Clarke hums. Octavia had switched her schedule last minute in order to get tomorrow off so they could go shopping with Raven. And as much as an asshole as he is, Bellamy doesn’t really deserve to get stabbed… again.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Octavia has a dress. You two should still be about the same size right? It’s hosted at the Natural History Museum. I’ll meet you at the entrance at 8. Thanks, Princess.”

“Bellamy!”

But it’s too late. He’s already hung up. She pulls the covers over her head and groans. 12 hours of sleep doesn't seem like enough now.

* * *

When he said he’d meet her at the entrance, he’d half expected her to come in scrubs just to spite him. (And damn it if he still wouldn’t escort her in and introduce her to the Chief of Police and the Mayor just to keep Anya away.) He had to remind himself that Clarke wasn’t some 17 year old girl trying to stand on her own two feet. She was 24 with one of the most sought after surgical residencies in the United States. She was never petty or cruel, and she always pulled through for her friends when they needed her help. He just isn’t expecting a knock out in a tight red dress. He was right about Octavia and her being the same size (except Clarke is just a little bit more endowed in the bust area, and he isn’t going to point that out because his likes his kneecaps, thank you very much). 

“You clean up nice, Princess.”

If his voice comes out a little bit rougher than normal he’s going to blame it on the walk up the stairs (even though he runs 3 miles every day.) She turns toward his voice, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders, a smirk on her face that blooms into a bright smile. The last thing he expects her to do is to burst out laughing. He frowns and looks down at himself. He felt kind of like a penguin, but he thought that he looked pretty damn good in his suit. The price tag alone should have guaranteed it. He crosses his arms and glares at her.

“Thanks, Clarke. Really.”

She holds her hand to her lips to get herself under control. She grins at him and walks closer.

“What did you do to your hair?”

He doesn’t move, but he can feel the blood warm in his cheeks. He couldn’t get his hair to work with him, so he got frustrated and slicked it back with a handful of hair stuff Octavia had left at his apartment. He thought it made him looked distinguished. Apparently, it makes him look like a damn clown.

“I tried something new.”

He sounds defensive even to himself. Clarke just rolls her eyes.

“Come here.”

He finds himself ducking slightly to accommodate her demands. He blames it on his nerves. (It is just a ball, a dance really, with all his coworkers. And his boss. And the Mayor. And a ton of important people all playing dress up and passing out awards.) He tries to focus on the feel of her fingers in his hair, how she smells just as good as she looks up close. Seconds later, Clarke pulls back with a satisfied nod pulling out a little silver mirror from her bag (clutch, the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Octavia informs him). She had managed to work the product in his hair in the way only a woman with knowledge of hair products could. His regular curls were brought back to life, but in a more tamed, tailored way. Her catches her smirk as she takes her mirror back from him.

“Better, now you look the part.”

He raises an eyebrow and sticks out his elbow for her to take. She rolls her eyes but slips her hand around his arm.

“And what part would that be?”

“The handsome gentleman that never lets his partner’s glass get empty.”

He laughs as they walk through the entrance together, not caring at the cameras flashing in front of them as he turns to smirk at her.

“So you’re using me to score free booze?”

She frowns at him. Her face is serious, but her eyes always give her way. There are light and playful.

“Don’t be silly, Bellamy. I’m using you for the free food too.”

He laughs at her as they enter the reception hall inside of the museum. Clarke gasps. Bellamy agrees. It looks alive. The plants are lush greens and yellows and rusty reds. Lights are woven delicately into the vines and plants. It looks like some of the trees are actually glowing. It looks like what he thinks Earth would look like a hundred years after humans have gone and left it to heal. He’s pulled from his thoughts by strong fingers digging into her forearm and an angry whisper form Clarke.

“Bellamy, you didn’t say this was a Black and White ball!”

He smiles at the people around him. He thinks he spots Miller at the back near the bar. He wondered who his partner brought and hopes that whoever it is won’t be scared off by his dad. (The Chief of Police was a kind, fair man, but that didn’t necessarily apply to the person dating his only son.) He speaks quietly to Clarke as she returns a few nods and smiles to a few people that know her through work. The balls were always black tie. This time everyone on the force was allowed to forgo their dress blues, something about the theme. He didn’t really pay attention to anything else after he handed the invitation to Octavia and half listened to her rant and black something parties and finding the right dress to shove it down their throats. He was kind of more worried about the line near the middle that proclaimed _Congratulations on your nomination for the Medal of Honor._

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Clarke yanks him closer to her by the grip she has on his arm. He looks over to see the strain of worry hidden beneath her smile. He hasn’t forgot how much he hates that look on her face.

“I’m wearing red, Bellamy!”

He quickly glances around… and the flurry of camera flashes and the amount of stares they received kind of make sense now. That one-sided conservation with Octavia comes back to him with a few more details this time. She had been pissed off that it had been a Black and White ball. Octavia always bucked when somebody tried to tell her what to do. Bellamy had learned this early on. (Didn’t mean he still didn’t try to do it himself.) He guides Clarke down the short flight of stairs and into the crowd.

“I wanted to be able to find you easily, Princess.”

She snorts. He kind of wants to, too. She’s not exactly short in 3-inch heels, but she’s still shorter than him. The red looks damn good on her anyway. She glares at him as she follows him to the bar. He’s pretty sure that she’s only following him and not leading him because his broad shoulders make people open up a path for him pretty easily. He motions at the bartender and turns to face her.

“I didn’t know that it wasn’t just plain ole black tie. If I knew Octavia wanted to stick it to the man, I would have asked to see the dress first.”

He shrugs. She narrows her eyes but doesn’t have a chance to ask the question he knows that’s forming in her mind. The bartender is finally stepping in from of him.

“Whiskey neat, for me. An Old Fashioned for the lady.”

“Bellamy.”

He’s sure she’s about to give him shit for ordering for her, but Miller is there, resting a hand on her shoulder. His partner gives him a wink as he scoops Clarke into a hug. They’ve known each other for years before Bellamy met Clarke. Her family was close to the Millers before her father died.

“Clarke, you’re looking…”

“Red?”

She rolls her eyes. They somehow end up narrowed at him. He hands over her drink as a peace offering. Miller laughs and leans against bar.

“I was going to go with gorgeous.”

She swats at his arm. It does nothing to distract anyone from her blush. Bellamy shakes his head at Miller. Apparently his charm works on both genders. Lucky bastard.

“We’ve established that my date is hot, red hot.”

Miller smiles as Clarke snorts into her drink. Bellamy smiles and motions to the room at large with his glass.

“So where’s yours?”

Miller shakes his head with a laugh.

“You seriously think I’d bring a date to this thing? My dad would have a background check in his hand within minutes and half of the force would have interrogated the guy within the first hour.”

Clarke gives him a sad smile. Chief Miller was overprotective. Clarke knew that all too well. If her mother had it her way, she’d be locked away in a tower like an actual princess. Her protectiveness was too little, too late. The damage had already been done. Clarke’s got the scars to prove it. Miller shrugs it off, like it’s nothing. He’s been Bellamy’s partner on the force for nearly a year. He knows that it’s not nothing. Nathan smiles at Clarke.

“You coming to support Bellamy? I keep telling him to not worry about it. He’s going to get the medal, and if he doesn’t, everyone here knows that he deserves it anyway.”

Clarke blinks as she sets her glass down on the bar.

“What medal?"

But her question is ignored as Bellamy catches Miller quietly standing at attention, his eyes somewhere over Bellamy’s shoulder. He won’t even admit it, but he reflexively reaches for his holster at the sound of her voice.

“Clarke Griffin, you’ve always known how to make an entrance.”

He turns enough to watch as Clarke smiles and hugs Anya warmly. He shares a look with Nathan. Yeah, he doesn’t know how Clarke does it either. She makes friends wherever she goes, even if they are completely insane. _He_ has the scars to prove it. Anya throws him a grin. It’s all sharp teeth. He takes a minute to wonder how he ever thought she was hot.

“If you need help keeping Bellamy in line, I could give you a few pointers.”

She points a finger at him. He notices that they are filed into points and painted a red so deep it looks black. He’s been on the force long enough to know that nails can be used as a weapon. He takes a step that puts him firmly behind Clarke. Miller is openly laughing at him. The traitor.

“Why do you think I’m wearing red?”

Anya grins at her proudly. It’s kind of vicious and terrifying. It’s why he’s never really dug around to find out if the rumors of her leading the Grounders, a street gang on the East Side of town, is true. Hell, it’s why nobody really tried to find out an answer. That and the fact that she’s the freaking Mayor’s daughter. Clarke grabs his drink, downs it with a wink at Anya, and pulls him out onto the dance floor. He wraps his hands around her hips reflexively. He still kind of shell shocked. That’s the only reason why he’s dancing. He hates dancing. Clarke’s smiling at him. He scowls.

“Shut up.”

She laughs in his face.

“Never thought I’d see the day where Bellamy Blake was afraid of a girl.”

He rolls his eyes and leads her away from Major Bryne. The woman was a highly decorated officer and had his respect. She just happened to have two left feet. He felt bad for her dance partner. He did not feel bad about dodging a wayward hand to his kidney.

“Anya isn’t a girl. She’s a freaking demon, and do I have to remind you that she stabbed me?”

Clarke’s clutch digs into his shoulder blade as they turn into the beat of the music.

“Do I have to remind you who stitched you up after you bled all over my ER?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Wow, sorry for making you do your job.”

They stare at each other for a full minute before they break out in laughter. He can feel quite a few people staring at them. He decides to say to hell with it and dip her even though the music doesn’t really fit. She giggles but leans into it. When he pulls her back up, it’s to her bright smile.

“Thanks for coming tonight, Princess.”

She shrugs and pulls him off the dance floor as the song ends and one with a faster tempo takes its place, completely ignoring everyone around them. She’s the one who taught him how to slow dance in the first place, but that doesn’t mean that she actually likes to dance. Something about her parents and etiquette training, and he doesn’t blame her at all. In any instance, he doesn’t mind following her lead, not when it means getting off the dance floor and away from Bryne.

“What are friends who owe favors for, right?”

He shakes his head.

“Providing free food and booze? I’ll be back.”

She waves him off with a laugh and turns to look at the plants on display. He’s seriously gone for a handful of minutes (he had to track down a waiter offering chicken kabobs because he knows Clarke loves them) but apparently it’s enough time for Finn, fucking Finn, to find her. The lines of her shoulders are tense, the only sign of how uncomfortable she is. He doesn’t blame her. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t flat out punch him.

He remembers Finn. The do-gooder from the 3rd floor who swept her off her 18-year-old feet. They were together a month before Raven showed up. Finn was a lot of things like kind hearted and generous, but he was also a liar and a cheater. One thing Finn wasn’t ready for was Raven and Clarke becoming friends and teaming up to make him regret ever hurting them. He really wasn’t ready for Octavia getting involved. (His littler sister never explained how three girls managed to fit a couch out a balcony window, but then again Raven was a damn gifted mechanical engineer, Clarke was a trained surgeon and triage specialist, and Octavia, well she just got shit done.)

Then there was the problem of Finn having followed her into med school to try and win back her heart. That’s when Bellamy stepped in. He didn’t need to say more than a few words, specifically that if her ever touched Clarke again they’d never find his body, to get him to transfer out. Nobody knew that Bellamy was the reason why Finn moved to the West Coast to finish med school. He couldn’t stay away though. He took a job at The Ark with Clarke in the ER. He never tried anything with Clarke again, but it was plain to see that he was still in love with her, or at least it was to Bellamy. He drops the drinks and the plate of food onto a nearby table, picking up the end of their conversation, the closer he gets.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

His voice sounds hopeful. Her voice sounds flat.

“Neither did I.”

“You look beautiful, Princess.”

Something clenches hard in Bellamy’s gut. Finn doesn’t deserve to call Clarke that. He might have been the one to give her the nickname, but that doesn’t mean he has the right to use it anymore. Before he knows what he’s doing, Bellamy’s wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against his chest. He drops a kiss to her cheek. He absently notices how it grows warm under his lip from her blush. It’s hard not to notice Finn’s glare.

“She looks more than beautiful, Spacewalker.”

Finn narrows his eyes at Bellamy. Yeah, he went there. Before he met Clarke and Raven, Finn used to work for a company that set up bounce houses for kids’ birthdays for a company called Spacewalkers. It wasn’t anything glamorous, but it paid for his medical school. And he hated to be reminded of it. Bellamy didn’t know why. Bellamy worked as a janitor for years to save enough to send Octavia to EMT school and himself to the Police Academy. It wasn’t a proud job, but he was lucky to have it. That’s probably the first thing that he hated about Finn, his abundance of pride.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice isn’t friendly. Clarke doesn’t call him out on it. Her fingers just tighten over his where they rested against her waist. Finn has to drag his eyes away from their hands to answer Bellamy.

“The Mayor invited me. I did his appendectomy a few months ago. He wanted me to meet his daughter.”

Again, with the pride. Octavia had mentioned that the only reason Finn got to do the surgery was because Clarke was busy helping her with triage in the ER after a particularly bad wreck.

“Good for you. Anya’s probably still at the bar. She’s something else. Have fun.”

He urges Clarke away with a gentle hand at the small of her back. She sends him a relieved smile. He tries to return it, but Finn’s voice makes him stop.

“I guess I should congratulate you on your nomination. Too bad your partner won’t be here to see it.”

Bellamy freezes on the spot. It takes everything in him not to turn around and deck the guy. He’s a grown damn man, a police officer, not the hotheaded teenager he was years ago. He doesn’t know why Finn always turns him back into that scared, angry little boy. It helps that Clarke links her fingers between his and sends a venomous glare at Finn. It’s stunning really.

“You don’t have the right to talk about Atom.”

Bellamy grips her hand tightly in his own. He’d forgotten that Atom was her friend too, that his death struck her just as hard. She was the one that tried to save him on the operation table. He died in her hands. She was the one to tell Bellamy that Atom was gone. He chances a glance back. Finn looks pale and shaken almost like Clarke’s words delivered a physical blow. He surely hopes they did. He gently pulls her away and sinks into the first empty chair as far out of Finn’s line of sight as he could find.

“Bellamy.”

He pulls his hand away from the bridge of his nose and finds a sad looking Clarke watching him with round, wet blue eyes. He probably hates that more than a worried looking Clarke.

“Something else I forgot to warn you about.”

“You knew-”

“Hell no! I never would have asked you to come if I knew he was going to be here! What the fuc-”

She squeezes his hand, completely distracting him. He hadn’t even noticed that he never let go. Her voice is quiet, but fierce.

“I know you that would never do that to me, Bellamy. I was trying to ask if you knew about the awards tonight.”

He can’t do anything but nod.

“It’s for what you and Atom did.”

There’s a tightness in his throat that always appears whenever the death of his best friend is brought up. For a second, he can’t speak. He can barely swallow. Clarke seems to get that. She covers his hand with both of hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs his shoulders. Apparently, that isn’t good enough for Clarke because she narrows her eyes at him and settles back into her chair. He knows that she will wait him out until he talks to her. She's done it before. He huffs.

“I didn’t know how. ‘Hey Clarke, want to come to party and watch me possibly get a piece of metal that basically says you lived and your partner didn’t?’ sounds kind of messed up.”

She leans forward. He notices that there tears in her eyes. It makes him feel even more like shit.

“If I want to kick your ass for saying that, then I know Atom would kick your ass for saying it.”

The laugh takes him by surprise. It’s just, Clarke is dead on. Atom _would_ kick his ass for even thinking that, let alone saying it. He would also tell him to man the fuck up and accept the damn medal. He saved those people during the subway shooting with Atom. He just can’t seem to shake the guilt he has for not being able to save his partner too.

“When they call your name-”

“If.”

She shakes her head. Her eyes are steely blue and determined.

“ _When_ they call your name, you’re not going to accept that medal for you. You’re going to accept it for Atom.”

He nods. She grips his hand, fingers just as strong and way more capable than his.

“But you do deserve it, Bellamy. You saved 14 people.”

“We both did.”

She squeezes his hand, hard. If that doesn’t get her point across, the _shut up and listen_ look she’s giving him surely does.

“I know.”

Clarke looks like she wants to continue giving him a pep talk but is interrupted by tapping on a microphone. Clarke yanks on his arm to get him to stand and follow her. The crowd parts for her easily. (He really should know better by now, Clarke blazes her own paths.) They stop next to Miller in the middle of the dance floor. Miller claps him on the shoulder as his father starts talking. Bellamy focuses on the hand gripping his. God, Octavia would laugh at him for needing to hold someone’s hand because he’s nervous about getting a piece of metal.

Chief Miller doles out his thanks you’s and platitudes. Then the Mayor hands him a square velvet case. Clarke leans into his side. Bellamy takes a breath.

“This officer has gone above and beyond for this department. He has displayed a selfless willingness to serve his community - by stepping forward, by volunteering, by sacrificing greatly to keep us all safe. Tonight, we pay tribute to an officer who embodies courage, honor, and integrity. Tonight, he joins a proud rank of previous honorees. It is my great honor to present the highest police decoration, the Medal of Honor, to Sergeant Bellamy Blake.”

The only reason he’s still not standing like an idiot in the middle of an applauding crowd is because Clarke pinches his hip, hard. He makes it up the podium in a fog that only clears when he realizes the clapping has grown quiet.

“Thank you. I know that this is an honor, that I’m supposed to say something like thank you and how grateful I am to receive it.”

He takes a deep breath and looks out into the crowd. Clarke stands out in her red dress, yes, but she’s always stood out to Bellamy. She nods, just once, but he can read it for what it’s worth. She’s got his back. She always has.

“But there was no better honor than working alongside Atom Smith. I will forever be grateful to have been able to call him partner, friend, brother.”

His throat is tight and there are tears in his eyes. Clarke is openly crying, but she’s smiling at him at it’s all he needs to go on.

“Without him, I wouldn’t be here today. I would have never received the nomination, let alone the honor of receiving it. This medal isn’t just mine. It’s his too.”

He lifts the black box with the shiny gold bar for all to see.

“For Atom.”

The room shakes with the applause and shouts of agreement.

“For Atom!”

Bellamy doesn’t remember stepping away from the mike or walking off stage. All he knows is that Clarke is hugging him so tight it makes his ribs ache. He hugs her back just as tight. She’s laughing into his shoulder. When he pulls away she points to someone in the crowd. Anya is raising a glass toward him. She gives him a sharp nod and disappears into the mass of people. 

“I think she likes you now.”

That is more terrifying than talking to a room full of people. If she stabs the people she kind of likes, he’s scared to see what she does with the people she actually likes.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They’re almost home free, the doors are literally 10 feet ahead and nobody has stopped Bellamy to congratulate him in the last 15 seconds, when a voice stops them dead in their tracks.

“Clarke.”

Of all the places he’d expect to see Abby Griffin again, it wasn’t here. In jail maybe for a DUI, but not at the Policeman’s Ball. Clarke looks up to him, anger outweighing the sheer panic in her eyes only by a little. Bellamy puts himself between them both. Abby doesn’t looks pleased. He doesn’t give a shit.

“Mother.”

“You look beautiful, honey.”

Clarke’s fingernails bite into the skin of Bellamy’s arm through his suit jacket. He needs to get her out of here. But what Clarke needs and what she wants are almost always two contradictory things.

“What are you doing here?”

Abby motions toward the stage area where the Mayor is still talking to a few of the higher ranked detectives and the Chief.

“The Mayor asked me to be his date tonight. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

She smiles and motions to the drink in her hand. It’s water.

“I’ve been sober for 5 years.”

“Good for you, mom.”

Clarke’s voice is so cold it almost makes Bellamy’s heart ache for Abby. Almost. She had hurt Clarke, both during the accident and the aftermath. He knows that Clarke would eventually make amends with her mother, but he wasn’t ever going to force her to do it.

“You know what you’ve also had for 5 years? A restraining order.”

Bellamy eases Clarke’s hand away from his arm and uses it to guide her away from her mother. She looks pale and upset as she walks toward the entrance ahead of him.

“Bellamy.”

Abby is following them. Bellamy stops long enough to level her with a glare.

“I will not hesitate to arrest you if you don’t stop following us.”

She doesn’t make a move to follow them, but her eyes track her daughter before they fall back on him. She rolls back her shoulders and holds her head high. She meets his gaze head-on.

“Goodnight, Sergeant Blake.”

He nods and turns to follow Clarke.

“Goodnight, Dr. Griffin.”

* * *

The walk back to her apartment is just as quiet as the city is. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking. That’s probably what makes him open his mouth. They’re friends for a reason. They both internalize a lot of their problems, their anger, until it blows up in their faces. 

“I had no idea your mother would be there.”

Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Bellamy, _I know_.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. So they just sit on the stoop to her building, the exact place they first met, in silence.

“You suck at lying anyway.”

 _What_.

“I worked undercover for two years, Clarke.”

Clarke just grins and bumps his shoulder with her own.

“You suck at lying to your friends.”

He shoves her back. It’s true. He hates lying to Octavia and Raven and Clarke and Miller. Not to say he has never lied to them to protect them before.

“I know that you’re the reason Finn switched schools.”

He tenses. He’s expecting her to punch him, not give him a wry grin.

“Look, I would have done the same thing for Octavia or Raven, or hell, even Jasper or Monty. What Finn did to you was fucked up, Clarke. He’s lucky I let him walk away.”

Clarke smacks him upside his head. He blinks. This was not going how he thought this conversation would go. He blames his rather unusual interactions with women. She just laughs at his confused face.

“Bellamy, I’m not mad at you. I was, but I needed the clean break. I needed him gone. I just never had the chance to thank you for what you did.”

He turns to her to deny it.

“It was no-”

She smacks him again. Becoming a surgeon has only improved her reflexes. There goes him ever winning against her in a game of pool ever again.

“Don’t tell me that it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing for me, Bellamy.”

She heaves herself up using his shoulder. She leans down and brushes her lips against his cheek.

“Thank you, Bellamy.”

He stands to watch her get into the building safely. Old habits die hard.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

The night doesn’t seem like such a bust, not when a stunning blonde is a red dress smiles at you like that.


	3. Bellamy

Clarke has three charts in her hand, and it’s the first time in a 12-hour shift that she’s sat down for more than five minutes. Nyko’s taken over the ER before she goes off shift. All she needs to do is to finish up paperwork, triple check her patients, and hand over the right charts to the new nurses rotating in. She’s tired, her back is killing her, and she can’t find a pen that fucking works. She tosses the useless thing in the garbage can and nearly nails somebody in the foot with it. She looks up, apology already on her lips when she recognizes who it is. She immediately jumps up and walks around the nurses station to give him a thorough once over. Bellamy holds up his hands and steps away from her.

“Whoa, Princess. I’m fine. The pen didn’t come anywhere near me.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t follow him. Even if she really wants to.

“Excuse me for worrying, but every single time that you’ve walked into my ER you were bleeding.”

Bellamy stops, whatever retort he had ready frozen on his lips, and shrugs.

“True, but I’m here for work. Somebody called in a possible attempted homicide?”

Clarke slumps in her chair. She opens up the file in front of her.

“African American male. 30. Came in with a stab wound to his abdomen. Claims he fell on a knife.”

Bellamy snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

She shrugs. It’s not her job to believe it. It’s her job to patch him up. He’s not even her patient. Nyko took his case over the second he walked in. She’s just handling his chart while she does her exit work.

“Miller says he came in wearing Grounder colors.”

Clarke nods. It’s not unusual to see hints of gang violence, mostly inflicted on each other. The Grounders were more like a weird family of survivalist junkies than a gang really. The patient had more of a laceration that a stab wound. He only needed some stitches as a bit of surgical glue. Nyko was right to call it in but…

“That’s his story. If he doesn’t want to press charges, there isn’t anything you can do.”

Bellamy sighs and leans into the slump he has going on with the counter. He looks tired. He looks how Clarke feels. She checks the clock above his head. 

“You coming off a patrol?”

He rubs at his eyes and nods gently.

“We’re headed back to the station after this.”

He looks over at her with those deep brown eyes. She knows what he sees. Her scrubs are rumpled. There’s an iodine stain on the collar that won’t come out, her hair is escaping her braid, and there are probably bags under her eyes. He studies how she’s sitting in the chair, her spine modeled to it, her feet flat on the floor in front of her at a perfect 90-degree angle. He knows her back is bothering her, and she knows that he knows it. She hates that he can still read her so easily after nearly a year of not seeing each other. She’s ready to tell him off. She knows she needs new shoes (and okay, maybe she needs to try not lifting people three times her body weight when they start seizing after collapsing outside of the main entrance of the hospital…) Instead he smiles.

“20 hour shifts are crap.”

She smiles, relieved, and agrees.

“Just long enough to screw up your sleep schedule, but not long enough to wear your out.”

He studies her for a second longer. The radio at his shoulder crackles to life. It’s Miller telling him to meet at the southwest exit in two minutes. Bellamy’s shoulders slump in relief when he reports that they don’t have a case to build, just some paperwork to file. Bellamy confirms and digs a pen out of his shirt pocket and hands it to her as he turns to leave.

“See you later, Princess."

She accepts the pen, but fixes him with a stern glare.

“As long it’s not in my ER.”

He shoots her a smile. Clarke just rolls her eyes and finishes up her charts. She clocks out in 20 minutes. Nothing short of a disaster is going to keep her from her date with her pillow.

* * *

It’s nearly four in the morning. Clarke has been home for exactly half an hour and has been in bed for two minutes of that half an hour. Octavia is locked in her room with her boyfriend if the motorcycle outside their building is any indicator. They’re either dead asleep or having sex. As tired as Clarke is, she isn’t mean enough to make one of them get up to answer the person knocking on their apartment door. Besides, she wants to give the asshole on the other side a piece of her mind. She swings the door open with fury in her eyes and a colorful string of curse words on her tongue. But what comes out is completely different.

“Is that _blood_?”

“Is that _my_ shirt?”

She blinks at Bellamy, pulling her eyes away from the bandage he has wrapped over his bleeding arm, to find him staring at her chest, more specifically an old Police Academy t-shirt that she found in his old room after she moved into it. She crosses her arms and glares at him. He just lifts an eyebrow. Only he could make something so simple look cocky.

“Why the hell are you bleeding in my hallway instead of in the ER?”

He leans against the doorjamb with a grimace that he quickly tries to hide with a smirk.

“Following orders, Princess.”

She glares at him until he breaks. He must be tired because it takes seconds for him to sigh. 

“I went to the hospital. Finn was on call, so I left. I know you and O could basically start running a clinic with all the equipment you have tucked away in here. So…”

She nearly growls at him as she yanks him inside by the color of his shirt. It helps that she finds the top of his Kevlar because he doesn’t have a choice but to follow where she leads. She pulls him over the kitchen island and points at a bar stool.

“Strip and sit.”

He gives her a wicked sharp grin. She notices that it doesn’t exactly meet his eyes.

“Yes, ma’am.”

By the time she’s back from the bathroom to grab her medical kit, he has his boots off and his uniform shirt thrown over the back of the stool with his Kevlar on top of it. He must have locked his gun and utility belt in the trunk of his car. He’s careful of where he leaves his weapons even after he taught Octavia and her how to handle a gun and a taser. She gingerly peels away the bandage, standard emergency kit stuff, to see the gash across his forearm.

He is definitely going to need stitches. She starts pulling out the things she will need before walking over to the sink to wash her hands. She knows exactly when he had his last tetanus shot because she gave it to him. (Okay, so she jabbed it into his hand because he let a crazy junkie bite him so Atom could cuff him. She thinks it got her point about being safe on duty across very nicely, and it helped to settle the terror that was clawing it’s way up her throat.) But it’s still procedure to ask.

“When was your last shot?”

He narrows his eyes at her. She narrows his right back.

“I remember a lovely blonde doctor stabbing me with a rather large and painful needle about a year and a half ago.”

The needle she pulls out is smaller, but her smile is manic.

“Looks like you need another tetanus shot.”

Bellamy groans. Clarke just grabs the vile she needs and fills the needle. She arranges his hand under the light over the island. She cleans up the cut gently, watching his face for signs of major discomfort.

“How did this even happen?”

“Murphy was down at the precinct. One of the newbies brought him in because he had a flashback in public. Dumbass didn’t cuff him because she thought it was over. It wasn’t.”

Clarke gently slips the needle into the wound and pushes the plunger. Bellamy hisses thought his teeth. She distracts him while she gets a new needle ready and loads it full of painkiller.

"How'd he get you?"

“He grabbed a pair of scissors and went for her throat. I caught him and put him down. He’s going to have a nasty headache in the morning.”

Clarke frowns as she gently turns his arm.

“And you’re going to have a nasty scar.”

She looks up to him watching her steadily.

“Why do you end up being the one that always gets hurt?”

Bellamy knew Murphy his whole life. He was there when he signed up for the army, but the Murphy Bellamy knew wasn’t the Murphy that came back from the war. Murphy didn’t talk about it to anyone, but Bellamy got in contact with his CO. All they could tell him was that Murphy and his team where captured and he was the only one to make it out alive. He had severe TPSD to say the least and suffered flashbacks almost weekly. It had gotten better over the last few years, but they were always bad. Once Murphy nearly choked Bellamy to death when he responded to a call from a worried neighbor.

Bellamy was loyal. That’s why he was the one that always got hurt. Murphy was his friend, and Bellamy wasn't there when he needed him to be. So he wanted to be there now. That's how he dealt with the guilt he shouldn't even have. But he’d never admit to it. Clarke gives him the next shot while he's distracted. It was a dirty handed tactic, she knew, but he wouldn’t have let her give it to him otherwise. He tries to pull his arm away.

“Clarke.”

His voice is laced with warning. A kitten would sound more threatening. Clarke just grins at him because it's too late now. The painkiller was already in his system. He’d feel it in a few minutes. He settles for glaring at her. Bellamy hated pain medicine because it always knocked him on his ass. The most his system could handle was ibuprofen. You wouldn’t believe the things he came up with when he had to take painkillers. The first and only time he tried Nyquil he tried to convince Octavia that Augustus was coming to steal her away. He locked her in a closet for two hours before Clarke came home, heard Octavia cursing her brother out from two floors up, and put him to bed.

“This isn’t going to feel nice, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch while you’re trying to sleep later. Deal with it, Bell.”

He grumbles under his breath about sneaky blondes, but doesn’t flinch when she smears a little numbing agent around the wound. She starts to stich him back together with thin, even loops and hands that are steadier than she feels. She’s almost done when Bellamy rests his head against her shoulder. He mumbles out an apology.

“Sorry that I drug you out of bed. Should’ve stayed at the hospital. But Doc Nyko was busy, and I’d rather let Raven patch me up than let that Spacewalker stick me with needles. Asshole.”

She smirks and closes off her sutures. Bellamy lifts his head to give her room to grab clean bandages and tape. He watches as she wraps it gently.

“It’s okay. Just next time, when somebody tries to cut you open, go to the damn ER, and stay there until they patch you up. They would have called me anyway. I’m still your emergency contact, dumbass.”

He blinks up at her. She shrugs. It's true. Once she got emancipated, Clarke didn't have anyone to put as her emergency contact, neither did Bellamy. He agreed to put Clarke as his emergency contact only if she put him down as hers.

“First, it’s stay of my ER. Now, it’s go to my ER. You are giving me contradictory orders, Princess.”

But he’s grinning as he says it. It’s lopsided and bright. The medicine is definitely working. She nudges him into sitting up, and then helps him to stand. He lurches toward the sofa. She wraps his good arm around her shoulders. 

“Like hell am I letting you sleep on the couch. You're too damn tall. You’ll tear your stitches trying to get comfortable. Come on.”

He doesn’t fight as she leads them both to her bedroom. He even avoids that one wonky end table that she always stubs her toes on. It must be muscle memory. It used to be his bedroom after all. She helps him undo his belt buckle and slides his uniform pants off his hips. He steps out of them and sinks down onto the mattress. He’s pulling the sheet and comforter over his shoulder when she turns to leave. Faster than she expects him to move, his hand shoots out and grabs her wrist to keep her from leaving.

“Where you goin', Princess?”

She motions toward the door.

“To clean up. I’ll take the couch. You sleep.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Then he’s sitting up and pulling her into bed with him. She yelps and smacks at his chest, tugging his arm to her face so she can look at it in the moonlight. There’s no blood spots on the bandage, and he doesn’t look like he’s in pain. That’s why she smacks him again, harder. He whines.

“Don’t do that! You could have hurt yourself.”

His eyes cross because he’s looking down her pointed finger.

“Well, the couch would have hurt you.”

She sighs, because he is right. Even stooping just that little while stitching him up had her back burning. The couch would only make it hurt worse. She kind of regrets tossing Finn's out of the widow now. It was a damn good couch. It just had a shitty owner.

“You could have just asked.”

He shrugs, then grins.

“Heeeeey, Princess, wanna _snuggle_?”

The waggling of his eyebrows would be off putting. It isn’t. With him high, it’s kind of adorable. She pushes his face away from her and rolls on her side to face the door.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.” 

She can feel his breath hitting against her hair.

 “Goodnight, Clarke.”

* * *

When she wakes up, it’s to Bellamy’s arms wrapped around her, his breath a warm, damp rhythm against her shoulder. It’s ~~nice~~ _weird_. She gently lifts his arm and slips out of the bed. He makes a soft noise of complaint but rolls into the spot she just left. She shuts the door quietly and lets out the breath she had been holding only to wish she hadn’t when she turns to find Octavia's grinning face.

“Did you finally do my brother?”

For a second Clarke can’t breathe. She blinks at her friend. O’s too busy waving a pack of gauze around from where Clarke’s kit is still open on the kitchen island to notice.

“You guys went straight to hot kinky sex didn’t you? Not that I blame you, it’s been a long time coming.”

Clarke finally finds her voice.

“WHAT. _NO_!”

Octavia actually flinches. Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I did not sleep with Bellamy… well I did, but-”

Octavia crosses her arms and smirks. Clarke groans.

“Not like that, O! We slept in the same bed after I patched him up last night.”

At that Octavia pales and takes a steps toward her bedroom. Crake catches he hand and squeezes it gently.

“He’s fine. He needed a few sticks after an encounter with Murphy.”

Octavia stands stock still for a minute until she sighs and hugs Clarke.

“I really don’t like that guy.”

 “I know.”

Octavia helps her pack up her kit and get something that resembles breakfast together. Clarke’s is using peanut butter as actual butter on her toast (they need to go the store) when she looks up to find a Grounder in the middle of her apartment. The same Grounder with the stab wound from last night. 

“Uh, hello, Dr. Griffin.”

Clarke grabs Octavia and points at the man looking sheepishly at them. There needs to be more caffeine in her system for Clarke to handle this. Really.

“Explain.”

Octavia offers her a bright smile that softens into something sweet when she looks at the man. He returns O’s smile easily. Clarke’s brain is just repeating _shit_  over and over again.

“This is Lincoln, my boyfriend.”

Clarke drags a hand down her face.

“You’re _Grounder_ boyfriend?”

She quickly backtracks at Octavia’s hurt look. He looks like a nice guy, you now, minus the whole _he got stabbed_ several hours ago, probably by somebody else in his own gang.

“No offense.”

He shrugs. Octavia narrows her eyes at Clarke.

“He isn’t like that. Just let me explain, Clarke.”

Clarke hears a stumble and muffled cursing coming from her room. Octavia looks panicked. Now she gets why Clarke’s first reaction was shock.

“You can explain later. Go stall your brother!”

Clarke grabs Lincoln by the admittedly very nice and very muscled arm and drags him toward the door. He goes without a fight but does stop her from shutting the door on him.

“Look, Clarke, it isn’t what you think-”

She holds up her hand and leans back enough to see Octavia giving her brother a dressing down in the doorway to her room.

“I know that you love Octavia. I can see that. But her brother isn’t going to care about that. He’s going to care that a gang member is dating his baby sister.”

He looks gob smacked, and oh _shit_. He didn’t know he was in love with her. She throws a quick look over her shoulder and lowers her voice.

“If you ever hurt her, they will never find your body.”

 He nods once. His face is serious, but his eyes looks amused.

“Shouldn’t you let Bellamy give me the shovel talk?”

She grins at him. 

“Oh, you’ll get one from him too.”

She shuts the door in his shocked face and walks back into the kitchen. Bellamy is stepping toward the coffee maker. He motions to the door with his injured hand. He winces. Clarke smirks.

“Who was that?”

Clarke shrugs and ignores Octavia’s wide eyes.

“Some guy looking for his buddy’s apartment.”

Bellamy snorts into his mug then uses it to motion toward her.

“Well, he got one hell of a view.”

Clarke looks down and immediately blushes. She’s still only wearing Bellamy’s old shirt over her underwear. She clenches her jaw and narrows her eyes at Octavia.

“You owe me one.”

Octavia is clasping her hand together as if blessing Clarke and nods wildly. Bellamy rolls his eyes from where he’s sitting at the island in front of his sister.

“I know, Princess.”

She goes back to making breakfast and silently meets Octavia’s eyes over her brother’s head of messy curls. She raises an eyebrow.

  _He didn’t even look at me._

Clarke isn't vain, but she is aware of how she looks. Octavia just smiles.

_I know._

Clarke shakes her head. In the grand scheme of things, it could have gone worse. Like Bellamy shooting a Grounder in her kitchen. Now both of the Blake siblings owe her a favor. She sips the coffee Bellamy silently hands her. Clarke’s morning is kind of looking up.


End file.
